Ok xD here goes nothing...
XD I've always loved crim-ey stuff, and I've always wanted to write something like that. I also adore the Phoenix Wright series, and if you know me at all, you'll know that, after a while, my brain just starts making things, and people up, wether I want to or not xDD so here's the result of my overactive imagination, and obsession with Phoenix Wright.
As for the character... I don't want to call this an "EdgeworthOC" thing, exactly. As General Rins (who's account you should check oooout! n.n ) put it, (I'm paraphrasing, of course xD she worded it better than this) "It's like in the game, where you can see it as a pairing if you want to." So... yeah. (XD y'ever notice how there are a ton of girls potentially paired with Wright, and Edgeworth gets...well... just Oldbag? xDD)
Anyways. Hopwfully, this works xDDD;; This is meant to take place soon after "Trials and Tribulations"
Disclaimer: The Phoenix Wright series belongs entirely to Capcom
NOTE: I've reworked this a bit. Also, I just played Investigations, and daaaaamn. I assure you, any similarities (all similarities) to case one are totally coincidental. I almost scrapped this, but meh xD; whatever.
"In other words, we're dealing with a whacko." The sarcastic remark was shot from somewhere in the group of assembled police officers, and the group murmured assent."We knew that already."
The young woman intruding on the meeting settled lower in her seat under skeptical eyes. Not that she could blame them, really. Tension was running high, and for very good reason. One police officers, and two corrections officers had been killed in the past two months, and there were virtually no leads, and no end in sight.
There was no headway, despite the fact that every bit of evidence, crime scene photo, and victim had been scrutinized again, and again. The results far from reassuring. The unsub, from what she could deduce from his actions, and behavioural pattern, was a fairly young male, highly intelligent, and highly 'organized'. Forensics had concluded that all three murders were definitely committed by the same man, and he had worked alone. The perpetrator would have to have knowledge of firearms to meet the horrifying modus operandi displayed consistently with each killing.
The first victim, Robert Young, had been shot in the upper back in the parking lot of the apartment building in which he lived. His body had been found at three the next morning, and the time of death, when examined, appeared to be only a few hours earlier. Bruising around the neck indicated strangulation. No one they had d interviewed had seen the crime take place, and those that did hear attributed the gunshot to a neighbour's television, or a dream.
Becky Miller, the second victim, had been shot in the back of the neck on her way home from the police station, found at seven the next morning in a football field she often cut through on her way home. The victim had also been strangled, though in this case, it was less likely to have been the cause of death.
The third victim, Spencer Garcia, had been found dead in his home the day before, shot, like the others, in the slower back, and again like the others, had been strangled after being left to bleed for a long while. No fingerprints, and was no sign of forced entry.
She was not comfortable with the idea of profiling– there was simply no real basis for it– but she had been paying attention to their assumptions, and agreed that they were logical. The evidence suggested several things, none of them good. The unsub had no preference for gender, but seemed only to be targeting law enforcement workers. He would seem non threatening, enough that Officer Garcia would have let his guard down at the door, maybe even inviting him inside, or, more frighteningly, was someone he knew. Most important, however, was the wound inflicted on each. Small, and non fatal, but agonizing, and disabling. Rendering them helpless, but aware of their suffering, and finishing them off when he grew bored.
The man was a sadist; he enjoyed watching his victims die.
As far as she could tell, the selection of police officers pointed either to a grudge against the law, or, perhaps as well as, the need to feel 'powerful' by taking the life of someone with authority over them.
The physical evidence was less than helpful. All three bullets had come back to matching a gun registered to one 'Mark Harris'. The problem being that as he was currently serving twenty-five-
to-life in the state penitentiary for assault, attempted murder and drug charges, and so, had a beyond perfect alibi. Strangely, that particular gun could not be found. A tall, golden haired man at the back of the room had shrugged sheepishly, and assured that it had been confiscated when Harris was arrested, apparently by the blond himself. "MacArthur," if she remembered his name correctly.
He would have to be a large man, the angle of each shot put the killer at six foot four, at the very least; definitely pointing to the 'young male' theory. Hand prints had been found, but no fingerprints; gloves, apparently. Though a few bloody size eleven footprints were another good clue– one of their only clues.
"So any of us could be next." MacArthur, who was leaning against the wall for lack of a seat added gloomily with a wince, and a nervous little half smile.
True enough, this was the young woman's first time working with this group. But in the days she'd been there, she'd heard, and observed several things, many about MacArthur. Whispers of incompetence, and bungled assignments were starting to foretell a demotion, or at the very least, a transfer from his division. Poor thing apparently couldn't handle the pressure of homicide well enough; was far to high-strung for the job.
"Hey! Let's not start with all that depressing talk, you got it, pal?" With this, a large detective she recognized vaguely stood from his chair, arms folded across his broad chest. This was his third emphatic outburst this meeting, and judging by the officers' reactions, not unusual. The bear of a man in the trench coat seemed to realize the others were staring, and plunked back down into his seat with a dispiriting sigh, and a bashful scratch at the back of his head.
"Detective Gumshoe is right..." MacArthur said anxiously. "We can't be getting panicked..."
A cacophonous murmur erupted from the assembled officers, MacArthur's distress catching. The man in charge barked for them to regain composure, and the crowd obeyed, the police chief checking his watch. They'd all been working late, on this case, and others, hyper-vigilance and an unusual amount of caution slowing things down significantly. It was now 11 PM and the meeting broke up with a warning of prudence, and carefulness.
"Hey, hey, wait a minute," The crowd filing from the room paused, as the chief of police got to his feet, dragging the girl to her own with a well meaning grab of her arm. "This is Miss Laurent, a psychologist. Some of you have been to see her already, but if you weren't aware, she's been working with us since this mess started. For anybody thinks they've started to crack up, and anybody who doesn't, she's in room 106."
She smiled sheepishly. "I'm not really a grief counselor, but... I'll do all I can." The bear in the trench coat beamed at her. He had popped in to her room earlier, looking dejected, and though her prompting had done little but get him ranting about instant noodles and someone named Maggey, he had left a much happier detective than he had been, so she supposed it had been beneficial. She acknowledged him with a wave of her hand, and filed out of the room with the others, heading back towards 106.
***
Danielle packed her things up, feeling out of place with her notes and textbooks among so many uniforms, badges, and sidearms. Her desk was a fair ways away, and up a flight of stairs, so she moved against the rush of bodies heading for the exit, and grabbed the rest of her things before also seeking out the front door. The stream of tired workers had slowed to a trickle by the time her own shoes clicked against the lobby's tile, and a call stopped her.
"Miss Laurent, please wait!" A full head taller than she was, MacArthur was easily seen, and waved as he made his way over to her, never really increasing his pace, despite the urgency in his voice. "Hi," he smiled, extending a large hand, that she accepted, and shook. "You're new here, hm?"
"Yes, I am," she replied, smiling at his forthright pleasantries. "Thank you for the welcome."
"Do you want a ride home, Miss Laurent? It's dangerous to be out there all by yourself at this time of night."
"No, it's fine," she reassured. "I take the bus, but there are quite a few people from the apartment building I live in on the same one, so I never wait alone."
"Not waiting long, I hope." MacArthur glimpsed out the glass doors at the other end of the now empty lobby, eyeing the unusually cloudy sky. "We've been having some terrible weather lately. Looks like more rain."
"No, no... I catch the eleven fifteen." She glanced down hurriedly at the watch on her left wrist. "Speaking of which, the only one after that is at midnight, so I'd really better be going-" She started for the door, but he followed after, still chattering, voice content, but tight, and stumbling.
"So what is it you do, exactly? I'm afraid I've never really heard, let alone worked with a...um...a...?"
"Forensic Psychologist."
"Ah. I... I see?"
She smiled. "Basically, any psychology related to criminal investigations. Ensuring that witnesses are fit to testify, treatment recommendations... jury selection....We also do the evaluations when people try and plead insanity. That kind of thing."
"Oh." He nodded. "That sounds fascinating."
They'd stepped outside, the night air heavy and thick with moisture, the heat and dark clouds threatening another storm. They exited on to the main street, but her bus stop was down a ways, and so she started in that direction, MacArthur following distractedly, and before she realized, he'd shepherded her over to the parking lot, and stopped by a green sedan, that, judging by the key in his hand, and his movement towards the door, was his. She turned, eyeing the group huddled expectantly under a shattered glass bus shelter, and the red and white bus creeping up towards it.
"I really should go-" she insisted.
"Are you sure you don't want a ride?" he insisted, climbing into the driver's side. "It's no trouble, where do you live? I mean, come on. It's not safe for you out here, all by yourself, at... night..."
She shook her head, thanking him hurriedly, and taking off at a headlong sprint across the cement blocks at the edge of the lot, and patches of damp grass between asphalt and sidewalk, rolling her ankle with a grimace, and a hiss of pain, and flailing to keep a hold on her books. "No, no, no!" She groaned, gritting her teeth against the sting in the smarting joint, and dashed haphazardly after the large vehicle pulling away from the station, leaving her behind.
She glanced down at her watch, chagrined. Eleven sixteen.
She cursed under her breath, setting her textbooks, and notes in an unceremonious heap on the ground, the reality of her incredibly long wait beyond frustrating, as she cursed the lousy bus schedule, and her own lack of sense.
Why hadn't she just accepted the stupid ride?
The streets were dark outside of the odd streetlight's glow, this part of the city abandoned on a Wednesday, at this time of night. A few signs across the street were still lit, but the parking lots were nearly empty, and save a diner across the street, no windows were bright. A roar of distant traffic was the only real sound; no cars passing by.
She leaned against one of the metal posts making up the bus shelter's skeleton, the walls nothing but a pile of round, translucent, greenish blue, balls of glass, heaped near where the missing panel would have been, and scattered along the cement. Teenagers, no doubt.
Danielle contemplated crossing the street, but the diner was surely closing, and another letdown seemed too much in such a short period of time. So she busied herself pacing the circle of brassy light the lamp above, back and forth, one way then the other.
The sticky, humid air was bordering on unbearable, plastering her chestnut hair to her forehead. She was almost relieved when the first few drops of water spattered against herself, and the pavement, promising both discomfort, and relief.
She was thoroughly soaked in minutes, the rain beating down with increasing intensity, bouncing off the road, and rippling the newly formed puddles. She sighed, ensuring that her papers were properly tucked away in her bag, and resumed the monotonous strides back, and forth. A glance down at her watch revealed the time to be eleven fifty, and she relaxed, knowing that her wait was nearing an end. She widened the absent circles she formed in the lit patch, spiraling in, then back out again, until she drifted outside of it, before the hill, and patch of grass that water from the parking lot was now running down, streams of dirtied water merging, and flowing to the grates at the side of the abandoned road.
The other side, a dark alleyway, nothing but a dumpster and a few soggy cardboard boxes catching her eye in the darkness, and so she turned to start the coiling path back to her bag at the center of the bright ring.
Something moved in the shadows, only the corner of her eye catching the flicker.
A muffled scream of surprise, and she was dragged back into the darkness, kicking and struggling. A hand, clad in black gloves much too warm for the season clamped tightly over her mouth, another strong arm pinning her arms to her side, keeping her still despite her frantic whimpers and thrashing. She forced the lamentably flat heel down onto her attacker's foot, but his hold didn't waiver.
"Hold still." The voice, a man's, was a raspy, disguised hiss in her ear. Steady, and commanding in it's tone, however uncomfortable it would have been to employ. "Stop struggling." He warned again. The hand silencing her snaked away, but the telltale sound of a gun clicking ready behind her head caused her heart to beat faster, and her blood run cold; throat dry, voice useless.
"Scream, and you're dead."
So, there you have it! xD my first chapter. Does it seem interesting at all so far? I hope so. Thanks to anyone who's reading this! A big hug for you! n.n Please review, and have an awesome day.